“Brigid said reading, talking, being close enough you could feel us would help the healing. We took shifts, like we did when Sawyer was hurt.”
“He was tortured and knifed and beaten and burned, and he wasn’t down and out this long.”
“Men did to him—that’s what Bran and Brigid say about it. A creature of Nerezza’s did to you. There was poison in you. Be glad Bran won the argument about a hospital. They’d never have addressed the poison.”
“More gratitude.” When she heard voices, she tensed.
“It wasn’t Sasha.”
“I know.”
Doyle stopped. “She’s suffered. You need to know. Whatever worry, even fear, others knew over the last days, she felt it more keenly.”
“It wasn’t her fault.”
“Convince her,” Doyle said simply, then carried her toward the voices.
CHAPTER TEN
When Doyle stepped in, Riley in his arms, everything stopped.
Sawyer, on the point of demonstrating to Annika the proper way to hold a pool cue, jerked upright and grinned like a maniac. Annika let out a joyous laugh, and somehow managed to execute a backflip in the relatively confined space.
At the bar pouring a whiskey into a short glass, Bran set the bottle down, stepped over to lay a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. She sat on a sofa with Bran’s grandmother, who crisply laid out a tarot card spread.
“She’ll be fine now,” Brigid said as Sasha jolted to her feet, even as Sasha’s breath caught and her eyes filled.
“There she is!” Sawyer laid the cue down, used one hand on the back of a chair to hurtle over it. He grabbed Riley’s face in his hands, kissed her hard and noisily. “Yeah, there you are.”
“Put me down somewhere.” Riley punched Doyle lightly on the shoulder. “You’re making it a thing.”
“It is a thing. Here, give her to me.” Sawyer pulled Riley away from Doyle, spun in a circle. “Ladies and gentlemen, she’s back!”
“Cut it out.” As Riley laughed, Sasha burst into tears. “Oh, seriously, cut it out. Down,” she muttered to Sawyer. “Down, down.”
He carried her around the sofa, set her—gently—down.
“Sash—”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Even as she swiped at her eyes, Sasha dropped down to kneel in front of Riley, grip her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything. So stop. No, that’s wrong. You did. You all did. So gratitude—extreme gratitude. Can I get something to eat? Pretty much anything.”
“There’s soup on the simmer.” Brigid continued to lay the cards on the coffee table in front of her. “Sasha had a yearning to make chicken soup, and it’s just the thing.”
“I’ll get it. Riley, I’m so happy,” Annika said as she danced to the stove.
“I’m feeling pretty cheerful myself.” Still holding Sasha’s hands, Riley studied Brigid. “You look just like her.”
“I’ve seen our Sasha’s sketches, and I do. But for a few decades.”
“I think you saved my life. It’s appreciated.”
“You’re more than welcome. Bran, are you going to give me that whiskey or let the glass sit half empty until the years pass?”
He poured a healthy four fingers, brought it to her. Kissed her on both cheeks. “My endless thanks, Móraí.”
“My gracious welcome. You’re pale yet,” Brigid observed, studying Riley over her glass. “But clear of eye. Sasha?”